


Pouring Rain

by Ze_Mole



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, More tags to be added, Mud, Rain, Sexual Content, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ze_Mole/pseuds/Ze_Mole
Summary: Christophe seems to think for a moment, looking down to the toe of his boots as he cocks his head to the left. “What do I want from you, what do I want… oh, Gregory- it’s raining, yes?”“No shit, Sherlock.”“Yes, well, I want to go out in the rain with you-”“Pardon?”





	Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I'm back to writing fanfics. How wonderful is that? The stress of figuring out a plot for even the smallest story, accompanied by the workload of school that's pelting even more stress on me, on top of that, my mental health deteriorating. 
> 
> Please enjoy this. If you do end up enjoying the story so far, don't forget to bookmark it and kudos. If you don't do those two things, at least comment! Comments spark tons of motivation for me, like many other writers on this platform.
> 
> Also, don't worry. I don't do anything with Christophe's accent except for shit like; "So, 'ave you seen 'im around lately?"  
Literally just remove the 'h' of a word if it comes first.

It was raining- droplets of rain dripped down the window in small streams, eventually pooling on the windowsill in small puddles. The rain had always been a comforting ambience for Gregory, especially while he was enjoying a book with a hot cup of tea by his side, occasionally served with a biscuit or sweet treat. This time it was a maple stroopwafel he had his father imported from the Netherlands- only the best suited his tastes of fine things. After a few moments of watching it over his cup of tea, he carefully flipped it over and set it back over the steaming cup so it could continue to warm. Stroopwafel was always best eaten warmed by a hot beverage.

Gregory had just about finished a chapter of his book when he heard a harder tapping at his window- louder than the raindrops. He looks up and sets the book off to the side, raising a brow in question as his eyes squint- what was that sound?

Of course, Gregory didn’t have any time to investigate for himself as the window suddenly opened up, the sight of a young male with wet brunette locks sticking to his face poking his head in and looking around. “ _ Gregory _ -” a faint smile was present on his features as he slipped through the window, not even acknowledging the mud he was tracking on the wooden floor as he made his way over to the blond’s bed. The newcomer’s light brown skin was caked in mud and dirt, along with faded scars that were quite prominent. Two that stuck out the most was one going over his right eye, which was blinded due to that same scar’s maker, and multiple in the shape of bitemarks ranging from the left side of his head to his temple. “I wanted to come see you without your parents seeing me, so I came in through my personal door~”

Gregory’s eyes weren’t even on the brunette's form- he was more focused on the mud being trailed, slowly pushing himself up from his bed and grabbing a towel from a rack on the wall.. “Idiot,” the Brit grumbled under his breath, shaking his head and pushing him off to the side, “you’re trailing mud. I’d rather not have my room smelling like utter shit because of you, Christophe.”

Christophe’s eyes narrow, wrinkles on the bridge of his nose as he crossed his arms against his chest. “Well, sorry it is raining outside. What do you want me to do, put on a maid dress and be your little housemaid?” 

“I wouldn’t be against it, really, but we already pay professionals to clean for us. I’d only ask that of you when we’re alone, and not in the house in the same time as my parents.” Snorting at the thought of the rugged male in a dress, he shook his head and began to wipe up the mud, humming softly as he occasionally glances up to Christophe. “What would you be needing from me, might I ask, my dear Tophe?”

Christophe seems to think for a moment, looking down to the toe of his boots as he cocks his head to the left. “What do I want from you, what do I want… oh, Gregory- it’s raining, yes?”  
“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Yes, well, I want to go out in the rain with you-”

“_Pardon_?”  
“I want to go out in the rain with you.” He repeats. “I want to go out in the rain and walk with you, be free with you and just look around- everything is so different in the rain, and the feeling of cold droplets pelting against your skin… oh, it’s a rush.”

“A rush I do not wish to partake in- I’m devoting my time to reading and enjoying tea today, not participating in your schemes.” 

“It is not a scheme if we are not getting in trouble or planning a murder.”

Finishing up cleaning the mess Christophe made, Gregory slowly stands up and shakes his head, a sigh falling from his lips as he throws the towel into a laundry basket. “Christophe…”

“Gregory?”

He’s quiet for a moment, then grins, nodding and turning on his heel to his closet, “Fine, I’ll go out with you.”

“Think of it as a date, amour-” he cooed softly, not even minding the new mess he formed as he walks up behind Gregory. “Do you know ‘ow much I adore you?”

“Too much.” Gregory snickered, looking over his shoulder. “To think this relationship has lasted this long… especially with everything we have gone through together.”

“And to think you’re willing to get your pompous British paws dirty for a French sewer rat.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.” Gregory had grabbed a t-shirt from one of the hangers, one he kept for the sole purpose of getting in ruined by grime and other inflictions. When you’re dating a rambunctious Frenchman, there’s no telling what you’ll be needing for all excursions. He slips his pajama top off and throws it onto the bed, slipping his head through the hole of the shirt before turning to Christophe. “I don’t mind getting these pants dirty- they’re sweats, after all. Mind fetching my boots from the corner?”

“Whatever you need,” the Frenchman mumbles softly, leaning forward to press a peck to the corner of his lover’s mouth before turning to fetch the boots. He had no idea why he was so head over heels in love with this British bitch- there was just something about him. There had  _ always _ been something about him, ever since they were children. Polar opposites- Gregory a well-kept British individual who had to live up to the high standards set by his father, who was a well-off businessman. Christophe? Well, he had his mother-a religious woman who set no standards for Christophe, knowing damn well he was a mistake himself and someone who’d make no effort to do anything that would please her. Their relationship wasn’t good if you couldn’t tell by the bruises on Christophe’s shoulders and forearms. 

Christophe grabbed the boots by the laces, returning to Gregory with them held up. “ ‘ere you go, my darling.”

“Call me darling in such a sweet tone again, I’ll just have to believe you’ve gone insane.”

“You drive me insane on an almost daily basis.” Christophe smirked and dropped the boots to the floor. “ ‘urry up, no time to waste. I want to get  _ dirty _ .”

“Elaborate?” Gregory asked with a raised brow.

Christophe looked away for a second, as if thinking, before looking back to Gregory with one of those glints in his eye. “ _ Muddy _ .”

“Damn it.”

* * *

  
  


There was a field a bit a ways from the small mountain town, past the woods next to Stark’s pond. Gregory and Christophe would often go there on sunny days to relax and marvel at the brilliant sunshine. In fact, this was the very field they’ve been playing since children, and the one where Christophe had asked Gregory to be his life partner in middle school- they had even shook on it so no matter what, they’d always be together and there for eachother. They’d have each other's backs through the thick and the thin, the clean and the dirty.

It was just how things had to be for them to work. 

Christophe was currently pushing past the bushes at the edge of the woods, into the clearing that was the field, erupting out in laughter as he sprinted about ten feet before turning back to where he had came. Gregory had just burst through, sporting his own smile as he laughed out of pure joy. It was a simple game of cat and mouse, where Gregory was the cat with the shiny coat of white fur, thoroughly brushed through, while Christophe was the brown mouse with matted fur. Sometimes these games would evolve into something a bit more- what was the word… steamy, that was it. One on top of the other, both of their breathing labored as hands roamed over arms, chests, stomachs, and thighs. 

Neither liked to admit it out loud, but they both always hoped that’s what would happen.

At the sight of Gregory, Christophe quickly turned his back to him and continued running. The boys had both abandoned their boots and socks back at the pond, setting them under one of the benches to get them to stay a bit dry. Their feet were coated in mud and other grime, perhaps even some leaves that had been left to their demise on the wet ground. Just the feeling of getting dirty in every nook and cranny of his body made him excited- mud seeping through his toes with ever step through a bit of mud, the occasional misstep on a rock sending a surge of pain that increased the rush of adrenaline. He could hear Gregory behind him, getting closer and closer with nearly every step. Christophe would mutter curses as well, then a loud yelp that rang through the trees as a weight brought him falling to the ground. He turned his head and looked up over his shoulder to see the blond, hair sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face as he brought his hands to hold down the shoulders of the boy under him.

Gregory leaned down, and between ragged breaths, muttered in Christophe’s ear with a smirk. “ _ I win _ .” 

“ _ You always fucking win.”  _ Christophe grumbled back, chin resting in the mud with his eyes tightly shut. “ _ What’re your damn plans? _ ”

“ _ To do anything I want. _ ”

“ _ In the rain?” _

Gregory stopped for a moment at the question, having to think for a moment before sighing. “ _ It wouldn’t be ideal.”  _ His hands move away from Christophe’s shoulders, down to his sides, which lead him to flipping the boy over onto his back with a smirk. “Though, we could always advance this plot in my bedroom. Or yours- even though I won, I’ll let you decide where you get ravished… _ after a bit of fun right here. _ ”

“You’d be the one comnplaining if you were pinned in mud, I assure you-” Christophe spat, making an attempt to buck upwards to get the male off him. “Get off of me, Gregory.  _ Now. _ ”

“Oh, Christophe, do that again and I’ll just have to keep you on your back,” Gregory’s smirk only grows as he leans down to kiss along the Frenchman;s jaw, one of his hands moving from Christophe’s side to his thigh, “like a little helpless turtle.”

“I’m  _ not _ a turtle, dumbass.”

“Right. You’re a frog. Sorry for mixing things up, darling.”

As Gregory continued to plant kisses down his jaw, then down his throat towards his collarbone, Christophe let a small whine slip from his throat as he brought a hand to the back of Gregory’s head. “ _ Stop. _ Not ‘ere, Gregory…”

“Darling, I won this time. I’m far too heavy for you to get off.” Gregory gently reminds him, a purr rising in his throat. “Maybe if you say please, I’ll consider.”

“I wouldn’t… be complaining if we weren’t in the rain, you  _ know _ that from experience.” Christophe’s fingers tangle in the wet blond locks on Gregory’s head, seeming to slightly push Gregory a bit more down rather than pulling him back. “And I know  _ you _ know I’ll never fucking say that word. Not to you, not to anyone.”

“I’ve gotten you to say it plenty of times in these circumstances, it seems you’ve forgotten I have a way of getting what I want and easily persuading even the smartest of men.” Gregory pulls away slightly from the skin with a small coo, glancing up to Christophe’s face. “Though, unfortunately enough, calling you ‘smart’ or associating anyone who has the right to call themselves that would be giving you far too much credit, now wouldn’t it?”

With a soft growl, Christophe narrowed his eyes. “What game are you playing at now? Either fuck me or get lost.”

“Oh,  _ Christophe _ . Who would want to fuck such a filthy, cheap piece of shit such as yourself? Hm?” 

“You, seeing as your standards are low enough.” He spat.

With a sigh, the Brit rolls his eyes and moves up to peck a kiss to the corner of Christophe’s mouth. “Simply teasing, love. I’d say my standards are pretty high. You’re quite the looker, you do realize?”

“I ‘aven’t looked in a mirror, I don’t ‘ave time for that anymore.” He mumbled softly, shaking his head and relaxing under Gregory’s weight. “You ‘ave a way with words- describe what I look like?”

“Why of course.” Gregory takes a moment, before sitting up and moving back to sit on Christophe’s thighs. “Sit up, dear.”

Christophe easily obliges, a small grunt leaving him as he hears a pop in his back from sitting up. “I feel old…”

“Shut it, darling, you’re not that old.” Gregory brings a hand to Christophe’s cheek, gently rubbing circles with his thumb as he admires the other. “Where should I start… Oh, your eyes.” Gregory grins. “Both are a beautiful green, even if your right is blind. I’m not quite sure if it’s bad to say, but it has some sort of aesthetic to it. It’s cloudy and lighter than your good eye- some may find it a little odd, but I find it to be quite charming. It’s a shame your eyesight is bad enough as it is in your good eye- why don’t you wear glasses? You’d surely look handsome in them. Not that you’re handsome enough already, as I’ve said you’re a looker, DeLorne.” 

“Keep going.” Christophe urges with a soft purr.

“Your skin. I love the tone- light brown. Soft in some places, rough in others. It’s so odd but charming.” Gregory grins and slowly pushes Christophe back down on his back. “The scars make you seem more rugged than you are as well. The one over your blind eye makes you seem  _ very _ tough- which you are. You’ve always been a fighter, and I admire that. I wish that sometimes I wouldn’t back down in fights or arguments. I have the potential to win, for sure, but some of my opponents can be awfully intimidating. Such as the fat kid.”

“Which one?”

“Cartman, not Donovan. Donovan is too much of a softy for his own good. Gets hurt easily. Cartman on the other hand shows absolutely no sign of mercy, unless its with someone he cares about- which doesn’t seem to be many, in the end. Unless it’s that blond kid you smoke with.”

“Mmm, to an extent.” Christophe agrees. “Though I just think ‘e’s friends with ‘im out of pity. Who wouldn’t be ‘is friend out of anything but pity?”  
“You, by chance?”

“ ‘e’s only a smoking buddy.” he grunts softly. “Skip second period together and just smoke on the side of the school. ‘e doesn’t talk much, so his company is welcome.”

“Alright, alright.” Gregory shakes his head with a chuckle. “We’re being diverted off the rails, Christophe. Let’s get back on track, shall we? Since you’ve been so nice to me for the past few minutes, I’ll let us return to my house and continue this. I get to be the dominant, however.”

“That’s ‘ow this works. You win, you’re the dominant. Let’s go, get up.” He gestures for Gregory to stand, to which he does, Christophe grunting softly as he stands. “My clothes are filthy and muddy- for when I leave, you don’t ‘appen to ‘ave a sweatshirt and boxers or something I could wear ‘ome? I’ll return everything back to you once they’re clean… except a sweatshirt. It’ll smell like you. I want to keep it.”

“I don’t have many sweatshirts, Christophe, you should know that. That’s not what I wear these days. I’ve… only ever gotten a few and worn them for you, for when you do take them.” Gregory takes Christophe’s hand and intertwines their fingers together. “I’m awfully cold… hopefully our activity in my room will warm us right back up, hm?”

“Gregory, it’s sex.” Christophe grunts softly, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’re gonna sweat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, wasn't that a nice first chapter? Nearly fucking in the mud. Sorry if I somehow got your hopes up that they'd do it there, but we both know Gregory wouldn't last two minutes getting sticky and sweaty in the rain and mud.


End file.
